


A Piece of Cake

by huenkai



Series: Just a Fantasy [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Baking, Chefiplier - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kindergarten, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Single Parents, Soft Septiplier, Swearing, Teaching, Unplanned Pregnancy, child custody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-07-03 06:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huenkai/pseuds/huenkai
Summary: Being a parent comes with all sorts of responsibilities. Taking care of a child means no fooling around, no whiskey, no anything.To be a dad isn’t something to be taken lightly. Sean obviously wasn’t ready to be one. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t mind downing an entire bottle of whiskey and be done with it.Parenting isn’t easy and it takes a lot of love and effort to actually raise a child. Mark didn’t think it would be this hard convincing him.





	1. Morning Calls

**Author's Note:**

> In which Mark is an elementary teacher and at the same time an amazing baker. Jack loves cake and so happens to have a kid in one of Mark’s class.
> 
> I don’t know if anyone made anything like this yet, so I’m not sure about how this would go.

“Christ Almighty.”

Jack groans into his pillow, producing muffled noises, rambling on about who knows what.

He hated waking up this early.

He’d been woken by the shrill ringing of the phone. Jack wasn’t exactly the morning type of person or did he like mornings. On most occasions, he would wake up at any time he’d like.

“For fuck’s sake. Give it up already.” the Irish wasn’t expecting any calls at the moment. He wasn’t that too happy with the fact that someone’s calling, either.

Pushing himself off the bed, rolling on his belly to stand, he hurries to get on his feet.

He couldn’t understand what they want from him in the morning, or why they’d call him, of all people. What could they possibly need from him?

Waiting a few more seconds for the phone to die, he smiles, assuming that whoever it was calling gave up trying. Or so he thought.

Dragging himself into the kitchen, he grabs a bottle of whiskey, and poured the content into a glass.

Sean eyes the landline for five seconds, relieved that it relented. Unfortunately, the person hasn’t.

“Blasted phone.” he sighed in defeat. Whoever that person was, he’s got to hand it to him, he’s tough. Normally, people would realize it’s a waste of time talking to him. Most of his friends didn’t have the luxury to dial in his number, much less have the patience to wait for him to pick up. No one bothered to check on him, or filling him in on the news. It’s not like he cared.

Shaking the thoughts off, he takes a swig from the mouth of the bottle. He made no hurry to get to the phone to pick it up. Was it that urgent to get him off his bed and ruining the rest of his day?

“Hello?” he speaks groggily into the receiver, a bottle of whiskey in hand. His head was throbbing from the hangover he had. No amount of pills could help clear his head, having drank too many the other night. It was _that_ bad.

“It’s about damn time you picked up.” Sean recognized the voice. What could he possibly tell him now?

“What is it?” he puts the bottle down to scratch his chin with his free hand, standing in anticipation. What made it so important for him to go all the trouble getting him out of his bed, to tell the clearly recovering Irish on such an ungodly hour?

There was a hesitant pause before he said the words.“I have news.”

“What kind?” Sean asked.

“Bad. Technically good _and_ bad.” Rob said in a foreboding tone. “It’s about her.”

Sean’s stomach sank.


	2. Teacher Fischbach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stones seem to pile up in his throat, one after the other, and his breathing slowed. From the corner of his eye, a figure of a man managed to catch his attention.

For a second, a part of his head started to hurt. Memories started flashing before his eyes—ones that haunt him at night, stuck on an endless loop. Her smile, her laugh. Sean could’ve sworn his heart stopped. What does this have anything to do with her?

Sean shook the thought off his head and returned his attention to the phone. His response was quick and short. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

Robin was silent for a second, contemplating his answer. The drunken man took a generous sip from his bottle, patiently waiting until the person at the other end of the receiver decided to reply. “It’s about the kid.  _Your_  kid.”

He nearly spat out the bitter content out of his mouth. His kid? Sean’s eyes widened. “Then tell me where they are.”

“I can only tell you where Sam is.” it was silent for a moment. He couldn’t take it. The mere fact that he had a bottle in his hand was the only thing that had kept him from losing his grip and losing all his senses. The last thing he needed was to pick up the broken shards from the carpet. His lips thinned into a line. After a long pause, he finally decided to speak up.

“You knew it all along, didn’t you? And after all this time.” the Irish’s face twisted into an angered scowl. He placed the glass on a much safer surface. Fortunately, Robin wasn’t there to see it and that he wasn’t there at the moment, because if he was, the man would have done something he’d regret. Rubbing his temples, he exhaled into the receiver. “I can’t believe this.”

“He is sick and he is to be given to you under the condition that you would take care of him.” Robin explained, leaving him even more confused.

In a quiet voice, the man asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice nearly cracked.

“This has nothing to do with you.” the Swede told him, which did little to ease his nerves.

“It has  _everything_  to do with me. Why did you keep it from me? Why?” by this time, Sean had already forgotten about his morning booze. All he could think about at that moment was how to process all this into his head.

“She told me so. It’s something that  _you_ , of all people, wouldn’t understand.” Robin reasoned, knowing how this would only hurt him. It was an insult. _He’s_ the father. Technically, he has the right to hear this first hand.

Instead of going any further, knowing he would get nowhere pressing him on, Sean asked. “Where did you say he was?” he needed to know where his son was.

“He’s still in class. He recently transferred to the middle school downtown. You should go pick him up by noon.” finally, the man had an idea where to start, and start all over.

Careful not to trip and break his nose, aware that he was a still a tad bit drunk, he hurried off to find the keys to his car.

Fingers shaking, and his hands were getting cold, Sean got the keys in. In a few minutes, he was ready to go. If only he got his thoughts together. What if his son doesn’t recognize him anymore? The Irish didn’t want to ponder over it too much. With great caution, he started the ignition, pulling away from the driveway. His drive went smoothly, as there was barely any traffic, save for the occasional red lights. And yet, he couldn’t seem to sit still. Was Robin sure about this?

Breathless, he hopped off the car after speeding through the traffic. Even with that, the idea of finally meeting his son was enough to put him off.

“Excuse me, sir,” Sean managed to say. “Where can I find the principal’s office?”

“Straight down the hall, then take a left.” Sean nodded and thanked the man.

In his years spent in Brighton, never had he felt this sense of dread. Sure, moving in took some getting used to, but this was different. A whirlwind of emotions ripple in his chest, enough to start chaos in his mind.

Where could he be?

What does he look like?

Stones seem to pile up in his throat, one after the other, and his breathing slowed. From the corner of his eye, a figure of a man managed to catch his attention. They were a mere feet away before he runs into him. He barely had the time to register the impact, sending him rolling on the floor.

“Watch where you’re goin’!” he growled, only to find a man with dark hair sprawled on the floor. Discarded glasses lay among his belongings. Sean was shaken than usual, and apparently their short encounter didn’t help, if at all.

“I’m  _so_  sorry!” the man cried out, quite flustered himself.

“Well, you  _should_  be.” he barked at him, letting a few curse words slip, but wasn’t loud enough for him to hear.

Mark wanted to be the bigger man here and let it slide, but straight up calling him indecent names wasn’t necessary. “Need I remind you that this is an elementary school where children get their education? You can’t go around cussing in the halls like some...  _punk_.”

Was that the best harmless insult he had? Mark felt like he could do  _more_  than plain ol’ punk.

“I don’t have time for this.” with a shake of his head, he took off to the left wing, remembering he still had a class expecting for him.

Going the other way, Sean’s feet carried him as fast as it could. The elementary school was hard to navigate through the hall. Identical doors and rooms line the hall with numbers and signs to identify them. It wasn’t long before he arrived. He had never been in shape for sprinting for five minutes straight.

Giving the door a knock, he waited. “Come in.” said the woman, permitting him to enter. Upon opening the door, he found someone signing papers by the desk. She wasn’t the principal, that’s for sure. Hopefully, he could get some information about his son.

“Sean McLoughlin. I’m Sam’s dad. Sam Mcloughlin?” he said. He hoped the stench of alcohol had rubbed off him, but the lady in the seat didn’t seem to mind.

“What seems to be the emergency, sir?” she queried, putting her pen down.

“Nothing serious, really. I came here to pick him up.” this caused her to raise a brow. “He just moved in. It was short notice.”

Resuming her work, she flipped through the pile on her table. “I’m sorry, but you would have to wait until later.”

“How long is later?”

“In five minutes. I’m sure you could wait that long.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Please, have a seat.” the anxious parent obliged, taking the one opposite her desk, lined by the wall.

Jack drummed his fingers on his lap, sweat pooling on the palm of his hands. He had been nervously tapping his feet on the carpet. He can’t take it. He can’t wait any longer.

 

* * *

 

Dragging his feet toward his desk, the half Korean closed the door shut.

Mark flopped himself onto the chair, his usual smile missing from his face. Normally, he wouldn’t sigh an awful lot. Not this much, considering he was smiling like an idiot when he passed by him in the morning.

From the back of the room, the seat closest to the window, Sam rested his chin on his palm, bored from listening to whatever Fischbach had to say.

Luna raises her hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Why is teacher sad today?”

“There happened to be a man, someone I’d never seen here before.” a very handsome man, he would have added. “He ran into teacher, and said a few mean things to me.”

“What kinds of things? What did he say to teacher?” the girl questioned.

Sam idly writes down his notes posted on the board, his chin on the palm of his hand. “Bad stuff.”

Sam  _did_  hear a man cursing when he passed the hall. It shouldn’t be that heavy or that nasty for Mark to feel all down about the encounter. “How bad?”

“It shouldn’t matter. He came off as rude. I understood at first why. He was in a hurry, but his language was  _really_  uncalled for.”

“Don’t forget to turn in your papers tomorrow,” Mark reminded them. “Class dismissed.”

“Why does Fischbach seem so uneasy about it? I mean, I’m sure what the guy said wasn’t  _that_  offensive to put him in such a bad mood.” nothing could bring their indomitable teacher down.  _Literally_. Take his clothes off, he’s basically invincible. He could pack a punch with his fists, but he’s not the violent type. Anyone who dare hurt him, or do so much as verbally attack him, usually change their minds and end up saying sorry. Mark was generally a nice person, and he could easily make friends with practically everyone. Anyone could testify to that.

“This could only mean one thing.” concluded his classmate.

“What? Did he find the guy so attractive that he was hurt by what he said to Fischbach?”

“That might actually be the case.”

Could it be? The expression the boy wore was surprised. “I didn’t think I would actually be correct.”

“Two words.”

“Who knows?”


	3. Seeing Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eyes wide, and his hands cold, the middle-scholer wanted to make a run for it.
> 
> It’s been years since he had last seen that face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam kinda looks like Jack when he was a lil kid, so yeah.

The very second the boy steps out of the door, he was called by his arts teacher. He didn’t know what to do at that time. This could only mean trouble. He couldn’t pick up on what the guy was thinking. There was no telling if it was for the…  _inconvenience_  he had caused.

“Sam? You’re needed in the office.”

His teacher informed him, putting a guiding hand on his back, letting Liguori lead the way. He didn’t appreciate how he had to be dragged to the office like a kid who has trouble finding it. It wasn’t like it was his first time here.

Sam didn’t know who it was, or why it had to involve him. All he could tell that it wasn’t going to go down too well. There was a horrible knot twisting his insides the closer they approached. Had Fischbach found out about how _he_ was the one to have spilled the goop on his papers? It would be a shame if he did.

“If this is about that one time I—”

“What do you mean that  _one time_?” his teacher peers down at him, clearly puzzled by the boy’s answer. Sam shuts his mouth so he won’t reveal evidence. “Don’t worry, you’re not here for detention. Someone’s just here to see you.”

“Well, does he have a name?” Sam abruptly asked, not wanting to be kept in the dark any longer.

Clearing his throat, the adult opens the door for him, guiding him inside. “That’s for you to find out.”

“Mr. McLoughlin?”

Sam tensed up at the mention of the name.

The man turns around from the desk to lock eyes with him. He stands right up the moment he did. The grip around the strap of Sam’s bag tightened. He soon finds himself gawking at the man before him. “How’s my boy doin’?”

Eyes wide, and his hands cold, the middle-scholer wanted to make a run for it.

It’s been  _years_  since he had last seen that face. “Hey, Sam.”

For a brief moment, he froze. Seeing the man right in front of him—after taking off without telling them—was surprising, to say the least. He sure had the nerve to see him. Sam hardly remembered how he looked like.

Bright blues mirrored his, and he could feel something prickling the back of his eyes. Sean draws a shaky breath, taking small steps towards him. It took nearly all of Sam’s strength and energy to let out a single word. His face alone was a lot to take in. “Sean, right?”

Stunned by his response, the Irish brushes it off with a chuckle. He holds his son by the hand and thanks his teacher, which Sam reluctantly obliged to. “I’ll take him home. Thank you.”

On the way out, Sam was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Heard you’ve been a… good kid.” Sean tries, easing the thick atmosphere between them.

Less than a minute, the child reacts to this with an indignant snort. “ _Hardly_.”

“I’d  _love_  to hear all about it when we get home.” suggested his father as the boy tailed behind him. He can’t exactly tell if he was being honest or sarcastic about it, but Sam couldn’t care any less.

“Nice car you have there,” he remarked timidly, to which his father responded with a proud smile. He scoffs, only to crush him with the following remark. “You got a license for it?”

At once, that smile drooped at the scathing comment. Sean replied with a scowl. “Why else would I be driving you home?”

 _Home_. Sounded vaguely familiar, even through the years he had been in one without him. It was strange to hear that word again, coming from him. The notion fished out memories he had buried not so long ago. Again, it was weird to hear that coming right out of his mouth.

Settling into the back seat, Sam lets himself get used to the feel of the car he was going to be in for the rest of the trip—and for the rest of his juvenile life. His dad then adjusts his rear mirror, watching him intently. The child looks back at Sean, who had probably been confused how he winded up in town. “I could only assume you have  _a lot_  of questions that need answering.”

Sean didn’t waste any time to beat around the bush; he needed to get straight to the point. “Yeah, like where’s yer mum? How are ya?” he ventured.

The middle-schooler winced, to which he raised a brow at the question. Sean didn’t seem to notice this. He had to keep his eyes on the road, unless he wanted to crash into anything. “Not here, apparently. I’m doing fine, I guess.”

“Does yer mum know I’m picking you up for the day?” he asked again as they pull out of their parking spot. He sneaks a quick glance at the mirror when Sam wasn’t too eager to respond.

The boy makes an exasperated noise. “Hasn’t uncle Rob told you about it? About  _anything_?”

“No. Not that I’m aware of.” the Irishman had this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hopefully, this time he would get a decent response. He hasn’t heard of her for ages, and he wanted to hear good news.

“Well, mom’s not… around.” while Sam was partially saying the truth, he could tell he wasn’t giving him the full details. Sean decided not to prod him for it, if he didn’t want to talk about it that much. This might be a talk they would have to have for later, once his son had settled down. He might get off on the wrong side, and he had to clear his head for the heart-to-heart chat to happen.

“I don’t get why you chose to live on this side of the neighborhood.” his son was repulsed by the bland colors that were too monotonous for his taste. Buildings rose up high just enough to cover up the sun, covered in mediocre paint job. The two steps off the car, Sean taking the lead.

“Brighton’s a nice place with wonderful beaches.”

“And if I’m not mistaken, you come to the shore very often?”

Taking a small pause to open the door to his apartment, processing what his son had just said. To blow his steam off, probably. “Not so often. Just enough to clear my head.”

“So, do you ogle at women’s chest and bare bodies?”

Another pause. This time, it was in shock. “Where did you get the idea?”

“It’s _common sense_ , though it doesn’t matter that much where I got the idea.” simple elementary, if he would ask him.

“ _Geez_.” exhaled Sean, proceeding to the hall where his son followed. He holds the knob to the door, directing him to his room. “This is yours. Make yourself at home.”

“At first, I thought you’d have a girl naked in bed, but so far there isn’t any,” concluded the boy, still keeping an eye on his father. He still wasn’t buying his ‘good guy,’ act. “I might be too harsh on my judgement, but I could be wrong.”

“Well, you’re right about the part where I’m no sick bastard who sleeps with strangers.” he confirmed, earning a small laugh from the short boy.

Sam narrowed his eyes skeptically. There was no physical evidence to back that up. “Like I would believe that.” he scoffed. Maybe he was being _too_ specific. What if it wasn’t _just_ girls?

Ignoring his son’s surmise about his character and overall verdict on his person, he walks to the balcony of their floor. “The view’s great up here—you could see the shore and everything.” Sean pushed the curtains out of the way, revealing the infinite stretch of the seas.

Sam’s mother used to tell him that she loved it up here. Back when they first moved to live in this place. “Mom would talk about how she loved this view.”

“She… she did?”

 _How lovely_.


	4. Sam’s Dad

“Your food is about to get cold.”

“I know.”

Sam ignores this, and proceeds using his fork to poke around what his dad would like to call their ‘dinner.’ His father noticed how he hasn’t taken a single bite out of it, not since he started to look queasy. It was Chinese, he said. The boy was becoming unconvinced about what it was. “Then, why aren’t you touching your food?”

He gives him a crinkle of his nose. In the first bites that he had, the noodles was alright up until his last that he had enough, leaving him with this nasty aftertaste in his mouth. This did not go unnoticed. “I’m not that hungry.”

The boy pats the dog’s head as it scurries over to him. While his dad was busy with stuffing his face with the food, he would lower the box for the dog to eat. When Sean looked up, the takeout was back on the table again.

“If you don’t want it, we can go out and get a burger,” suggested the adult between them before his child turns down the offer. He got the message by his face alone. “Or anything you like aside from a take out.”

“Didn’t you say you used to cook?” he always had it coming, the question he had been waiting for him to ask. He already an answer prepared for him.

A scoff. Sean scoffs. “Been years since. Can’t say for sure if I still got what it takes.”

“That sucks.”

“Language, Sam.” he admonished, receiving a response from the younger.

With a roll of his eyes, the boy reached for his cup to fill it with water. He pours himself another drink, downing the tall glass until it had been empty. “Sure, whatever, Sean.”

Jaws unhinged unnaturally, he loses his grip on his fork, the utensil clattering on the plate. There was a trace of shock written all over his face, as he was caught off his guard by this. “What—?”

“May I be excused? I have homework to do.” his son pushed himself off the table, hops off his chair to bolt straight for his room.

He takes off without waiting for his response, much less his approval. The Irishman turned to his pet, reached for the box to feed it the leftovers. “Want some, girl?”

The dog happily wagged her tail.

Sam could have told him his preferences, but he was quick to lock his room and settle in. It must be hard for his kid, moving places in a short time, especially without his mother. He didn’t expect him to stay, knowing very well that his ex would steal his child again from him, but Sam told him otherwise. From what little Rob had said, he would remain silent about her, and this made it particularly clear to him that his former lover was not there to care for their son. The reason behind this was still undisclosed between them, and he can still wait for an answer.

It had been evident in his son’s eyes, but he wasn’t in a hurry to know.

As Sam puts his pencil down, he throws himself into the bed in the sheets he’d been provided with. He leaves on the lamp to his desk, feeling drowsy.

Wiggling under the comforter, rolled into a burrito, Sam tried to will himself to sleep. The thing is, he can’t. Not with all the chaos going on in his head. He wonders if he stayed awake, so that way he won’t see them. But it seemed neither of that was happening tonight.

Curse his underdeveloped body. He had passed out in the small seconds he had when he was choosing between sleeping and not sleeping at all.

Sean, too, had been lying in the couch like a rock. He was reluctant to come and knock on his door to check on him, see if he had gotten used to the setting of a new home. It was apparent that he had, judging the way he had easily curled up in a ball, his hands tucked under the pillow while his legs were sprawled over the span of the bed.

He looked adorable in that state, and he was tempted to hug him. Sam was barely four when his mother had taken him from him. How long had it been? He had lost track of time. How many birthdays had he missed? Sean wanted to make up for every bit of it. That is, if his son would let him.

Retreating to the sofa, he cracks open a can of beer before chucking it under the furniture. He didn’t want to leave an impression on his kid, having an alcoholic for a dad. Sean had been too drunk to toss it into the bin, and gives one last burp before he finally gives in to his sleep.

The rest of his dream made no sense to Sam, so he does his best to wake up.

And it wasn’t too long when the sun decided to shine a light in his eyes and blind Sam the moment he opened them. He groaned softly, scrubbing at his eyes. He reached the clock, turned the alarm off and went ahead to get ready.

It was a miracle when he had found himself an unopened box of cereal in the cupboard after searching every drawer and compartment in the fridge. There was a carton of milk and bread, half a dozen eggs lying around.

He tried making a decent meal out of it, trying to get a feel of the environment. Sam fiddles with the pans, puts one on the stove and lets it heat up. He grabbed the eggs and started to whisk them in a bowl.

In the morning, Sam was done preparing and was about to dash out the door to leave for school. Sean wasn’t having that.

The mouthwatering smell of scrambled eggs knocked him out of his sleep, prompting him to come check the kitchen. Was he seeing things right? It must be the hangover.

Or, that was his son flipping the soft fluffy egg onto the plate with his spatula and placed them on the table.

It seemed he was perfectly capable on his own, what with the coffee brewed and made for him. That, or the kid made himself his own cup.

“Off to school?” this early? Sean did not get the memo. He should have asked for his schedule, or over at dinner that night but it went past his mind. It seemed Sam wasn’t planning on telling him.

The two sat down together for breakfast, helping themselves to a delicious meal Sam made.

He had been thinking about walking to school for apparent reasons, one of them being hesitant to reconnect with his father. He still has to get used to him after years of not being with him in his absence, and that might take him quite a while. He scowled. “Yeah.”

“If you want, I could give you a ride—”

He didn’t have a choice. Did he? “Can’t I just walk there?”

“Nah.” his dad replied bluntly, shuffling over to the counter to swipe the keys by the coffee maker with his mug in hand.

He thought he might say that. Sam groaned, knowing that there was no escaping this slob of a man. “Can we leave now?”

The man chugged the tongue-burning liquid down his throat, charging his entire system with caffeine. He wasted no time to change his pants, grabbed Sam by the elbow to hurry out of the apartment and get into the car. He made sure his kid was buckled in, making extra sure that the seatbelt is on. He closed the door to the backseat and went to his, started the ignition, and drove away.

“I didn’t get to prepare you lunch. I thought school would be in a little later.”

Which was why he had a paper bag with a sandwich and whatever he could find in their fridge that had no molds on it. “I’ll manage.”

“And here is your, uh, lunch money.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“I’ll pick you up the same time yesterday.” Sam had turned his back to him by this time, already heading straight for the door. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitance, even if it meant Sam hating him. “Love you!”

He cringed internally. He cringed so bad, his insides physically hurt.

Sam could only hope no one noticed—

“What was that all about?” Tim runs to his side and wheezes at how red his cheeks were. He looked stupid flustered, but he decided not to point it out, knowing he would clobber him later for it.

“Nothing. You saw nothing.” he growled through gritted teeth. It was already embarrassing enough that he announced his fatherly love for him out in public.

“Perfect timing, if you ask me,” he snickered at his friend. Tim thought it would help if he reminded him of what would be happening the next day. He’d been whining whether he should bring Robin or not. Now that his actual dad was there, then he might feel a little better about it. “Tomorrow’s bring your parent to school day.”

“Let’s just get to class.”

Since Mark was feeling generous that day, he gave the entire period to dedicate their time on ‘recreational’ activities, as he would like to say. He let them play with the blobs of colors in their hands this time instead of crayons that end up with their outputs scrawled on the wall.

In their spare time, the two would sculpt monsters out of clay and roll them off the table. Sam liked to make cakes and pastries.

“Was he your old man?”

“Last I checked, I didn’t have a dad.” he pressed, the topic becoming heavier to him.

“Come on, you’ve got to have one. Everybody has at least one.”

“He used to be a cook, I think.” or perhaps he might have confused him for a different person.

“I’m sure he is.”

“Or maybe I remember it differently,” he added, pretending to pour in the mix into the batter. “Very differently.”

“Lovely.” his teacher remarked as he supervised the children and their works.

“I wouldn’t call him that.”

“I was talking about the dough, sweetie.” Mark corrected him, pointing at his artwork creations on his desk.

Sam let out a small oh. “Still, lovely is the last thing to describe what my dad is.”

-

At the end of the day, Sam still had a dad to come home to. Be it his choice or not.

As they made their way into the kitchen, Sam was surprised to see no takeouts were on the table.

“You hungry?”

“I guess I kind of am,” the middle-schooler replied, trying to deduce what the dish might be by the smell of it. He might give it a try, considering his dad tried to make a meal for them. Depends on what they were having, he might have added. “What’s for dinner?”

Eagerly lifting the lid off, a dreadful stench escapes the steaming pot, which prompts him to clap a hand to cover his nose. “Viola!”

“Is that your cooking?”

“See for yourself!” he beamed at the boy, spatula still in hand.

Sam risked getting a step closer to the stove, standing an inch from it. He reaches for the lid to open it again, his other hand still on his face. Bubbles rise out of the bottom of the soup, only to pop as it surfaced.

What had he done?

Upon closer inspection, the boy thinks he needed a pass on this one. He seals the abomination back into the container to let the odor stay there. He scrunched up his face as he stared down at the concoction of wrong spices and undercooked meat.

He then had a moment of clarity.

“I think we should stick to takeouts.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just love making up scenarios but I end up leaving them unfinished and it makes me sad thinking about it whenever I abandon a book halfway through.
> 
> That doesn’t mean I’d leave this book hanging, though. I’m determined to see this book completed and nO ONE’S GONNA STOP ME


End file.
